


the stranger

by silkspectred



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (especially for the 616 bits), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amputation, Blood, Bodily Fluids, Body Horror, Captivity, Dark, Depression, Don't Like Don't Read, Evil Tony Stark, Gang Rape, Humiliation, Hurt Steve Rogers, Injury, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Multiverse, POV First Person, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Rape, References to French Existentialism, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Steve Whump, Torture, Violence, Vomiting, hopelessness, mild mind break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28243056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkspectred/pseuds/silkspectred
Summary: I wanted to go back to Peggy. But I wasn't thinking of Peggy, and the stone knew, and it led me here.Here. Hell.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 31
Kudos: 82





	the stranger

**Author's Note:**

> I read Albert Camus’ _The stranger_ (hence the title) and the accompanying essay _The Myth of Sisyphus_ and this is the result. If you’re familiar with those works, you will recognize their influence here. If you’re not, it doesn’t matter, you can still read the story. If you’d like a quick summary of Camus’ main ideas and themes, you can watch [this video](https://youtu.be/_hJZEq61KeM).
> 
> **IMPORTANT: I trust that you have read all the tags very carefully before reading this story. It’s definitely not for everyone.**
> 
> Many thanks to ollie for beta!

I wanted to go back to Peggy. But I wasn't thinking of Peggy, and the stone knew, and it led me here.

Here. Hell.

It’s nothing that I recognize. From what I’ve seen it’s a mix between the Roman Empire and some kind of medieval kingdom. But the tech is different. The tech is familiar. And the King owns it all.

He owns everyone. He owns me.

*

The King has never seen me fight. Some of the inmates say I should be glad for this ignorance. They say it won’t last. They say I’m his type.

There’s a statue of him, outside the training area. Must be at least 50 feet tall. It faces the opposite direction, so I can’t see his face.

*

We work and train all day. Every day.

The work is cutting stones for construction.

The training is for the games. Once a week.

Seems like I’m a gladiator now, or a close equivalent. But my life is worthless here. I’m not a valued entertainer of crowds, I’m not a tool to manufacture consent, I’m not an idol for the people. I train, I do my job, I kill. Bears, wolves, the occasional tiger. Innocent animals. Innocent people. Boys no older than seventeen. Them or me, I tell myself.

Survival compels me to fight, to win, to kill. But it doesn’t matter. Them or me, it actually doesn’t matter at all.

I’ve been sentenced to death, like everyone else here. Like everyone else.

If the crowd loves me, they’ll be even more thirsty for my blood. The most loved gladiators get brutally executed, and the screams of agony are drowned by the screams of joy and excitement. The people adore seeing their favorite warriors go to the slaughter. It’s enough to put every dream of glory or freedom in perspective.

*

I don’t know how much time I have left before my execution. The others say it could be months or even years. Until there are new slaves, captured during the wars. Until then, probably.

*

I could let one of the others kill me in the games. Some do. I can’t.

*

No one knows his name. No one has ever seen his face. He wears a golden mask in public.

*

He comes to the games. They say he’s back from a trip. 

He watches me fight. He wears his golden mask.

*

I’ve lost my powers. It happened pretty much immediately after I got here. I don’t know why.

I’m still tall and I still have muscles. I train, so I haven’t lost them, and they feed us enough because people want a spectacle to watch, but I don’t have any of my superhuman abilities anymore. No super strength, no enhanced senses, no super speed. No special reflexes, no incredible stamina or durability or agility. No super healing. I’m just a man. Nothing special about me.

*

As for the state of my mind, I actually cannot tell. Do I still have my enhanced intelligence? Am I still a tactical genius? Can I remember things perfectly, things I’ve only seen once?

I don’t know. 

And that’s enough to know, actually.

*

But I do remember _him_. I do.

*

Life in the prison camp is… It’s life in a prison camp.

The guards beat us up every day. And they rape us every night. There’s not too many of them, so a few of us get spared the ordeal some nights, but never more than one or two in a row.

I’m grateful for the nights when they leave me alone. I huddle up on my wicker mat and close my eyes, trying to shut everything else out. The squelching noises of fucking, the muffled cries for help, the desperate attempts at refusing, the well-placed punch to the gut, and then, occasionally, the dull gurgle of blood filling a mouth, the echo of a severed limb hitting the floor, the sharp intake of breath as a blade enters the lung. The screams. The chronic coughing of those pretending to sleep. It’s from the stone dust.

If it’s not one thing, it's gonna be the other.

*

I wanted to fight the guards, at first. Protect the others. I stopped.

*

Sometimes, one of us disappears. A guard comes, takes a prisoner away after a brief talk.

We never see these men again. 

They all have fair hair. 

*

I tried to escape.

I didn’t even plan it. Saw a door left open, tried to make a run for it. Forgot I’m not as fast as I used to be. I slipped over the icy ground.

So much for being a master strategist.

*

I’m in a dungeon. Chained to the floor, in the middle of the room.

There’s a small window, up above, close to the ceiling. I can see the sky and the white clouds passing by. It makes me feel human.

*

A boy comes in to clean me. He’s a servant. _He should be in school_ , I think, absurdly.

*

I look at myself in a mirror for the first time in god knows how many months.

My beard is long again. Good; everyone’s got one here. Wouldn’t want to be out of style.

*

I smell of rose oil.

*

The boy leaves a robe for me to wear. It’s beautiful. It’s silk. It sparkles.

I wear it.

I’m about to pay for it.

*

There’s twelve of them. The Knights of the Order of the Sword, the most loyal servants of the King, his personal guards and most cruel warriors. I’ve heard stories about them, war stories, and each one made me want to throw up.

These are not men. These are beasts.

*

They take turns. They fight for it, like animals.

They don’t just rape me. I wish they just raped me.

*

I had forgotten how strong pain can be when it lasts.

*

I’m strapped to a table.

Cuts, bruises, burns.

Nothing too damaging, or I won’t be able to work and fight anymore. But anything that can heal, even in a long time, is fair game.

What they do to my cock, though... I can’t even look at it.

The pain passes the point where tears can soothe it.

*

They take a molar out and I faint for a minute. I come to with blood choking me. 

One of them turns me over and forces himself inside me, the others waiting around, more or less patiently. Suddenly, a hot liquid hits my back and the guy fucking me protests, disgusted. He says that _that_ should wait until the end. So that’s what awaits me, then.

A man is called in; he throws a bucket of water over me.

It chases away the smell. It’s cold.

*

I just want it to end. I just want it to end.

*

I think about the window. The sky. The clouds.

*

There’s someone watching us. He’s been here the whole time but I noticed him only now.

I know who it is.

*

One of the Knights can’t wait anymore, and he pushes his cock into my mouth. It hits the spot where my tooth used to be. I see my blood on his dick when he takes it out. It’s his turn.

But it gave the idea to the others. Why wait when there’s another hole to be filled.

A few of them come in my mouth. I wish I did not have a mouth.

*

They do it. They kick me to the floor when they’re done and they do it. They piss on me, all twelve of them. They spit on me.

I throw up on the floor. Can’t help it. I vomit their come and the blood I’ve swallowed.

They’re over me immediately. They push my face into my own sick. Kick my ribs, my back, my stomach. Break my fingers with the heels of their boots.

“Enough.” 

His voice.

The Knights stop and leave. They’re dismissed.

I feel watched.

The silk robe is ripped to shreds, soaking wet.

The boy comes in.

He starts cleaning the floors while two men take me back to the dungeon.

*

The boy scrubs me over carefully. He wants to get me clean without hurting me.

I wish he didn’t have to do this.

*

There’s a fireplace in the room. The fire is burning bright now.

All I can think about is cutting logs with him at the farm.

_Don’t take from my pile._

*

The boy comes and goes. He’s busy. He hums a song while he works.

I’m out of my mind with pain.

*

“My name is Steve,” I say. It doesn’t mean anything, even to my own ears. But it’s been a few days, and some part of me must be starting to heal, although I don’t believe that’s possible. I’m just tired of my own thoughts. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“James.”

*

“How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

“Why do you stay here?”

“The pay’s okay,” he says. 

“But—”

“You can get used to anything.”

Isn’t that right.

*

There’s a doctor. Medicine seems to be pretty advanced compared to what this world looks like. There are antibiotics and vaccines. Painkillers, too, but I don’t get a lot of those. They also have some kind of body scanners.

I wonder if common people have access to these. But then again, that wasn’t a given even in my world, and I know how hard he tried to fix it.

*

“The doctor says you heal fast.”

Do I? Are my powers coming back? Or is it just the healing?

I try to rip off the leather bindings at my wrists and I can’t.

“I thought I didn’t anymore.”

“Was it magic?”

“No. Science.”

“It’ll make it more fun for them.”

Yeah. I got that, buddy.

*

“Do you know how to read and write?”

“Reading, yeah, a bit. Writing, uh... not very well.”

“I can teach you.”

He’s about to say something. But he settles for, “Alright.”

*

He gets better in a matter of days.

*

He’s here. He’s here. The room changes with his presence.

He’s sitting in a dark corner of the room. He breathes quietly but it sounds labored, as though he has to think about it to keep on doing it.

“You tried to escape,” he says, bored. “You can’t. You’re mine. But that’s not why you’re here.”

His voice. Now that I’ve heard more of it, I recognize it.

I feel my blood freeze over inside my veins.

*

A couple of weeks in bed and I’m almost as good as new. I’m still not stronger than I look, nor faster, but the cosmic joke of the day is that the guy who gets regularly gangraped wins his healing factor back, without the rest of his superhuman abilities that could help him break out of captivity.

It’s like the universe is encouraging them. Or punishing me.

*

They do it again. 

And again. 

And again.

Each time they get more vicious, because they know I’ll heal.

I do heal, but not perfectly, and not as fast as before. Broken bones keep aching, scars remain impressed into my skin as reminders, bruises take days to disappear instead of hours. But they don’t know that.

The burns are the worst part. I hate it when they burn me. I hate that I’ve gotten used to it and I don’t pass out anymore.

*

They take a couple more teeth out. They make me swallow them.

*

Sometimes I get the urge to fight them off. I can’t take twelve men at once, not like this. Still, I get to see their surprise. It’s tinged with admiration.

*

The universe. The universe doesn’t do anything. The universe has no meaning. It makes no sense.

*

It’s summer. James wears a linen tunic now, instead of the usual wool.

The fireplace is dark and empty.

*

I watch the clouds from the window. The blue sky. The white clouds.

It gives me the illusion that I can cheat pain. But I can’t.

*

I think of him. The one I knew.

I think about all the things I wish I had done, said. 

It’s useless. But I’m a prisoner, and as such I’m reduced to my past. Future does not exist. Not anymore. Not here.

*

It hurts. It hurts so much that I’m going crazy with it.

He keeps watching while the Knights use me.

He watches and watches and watches. He breathes, and doesn’t say anything.

*

I used to be able to fight him in the armor.

I remember every blow. Every blow taken, every blow given.

But I’d rather have _this_ than fight him again.

*

Countless cycles of the same thing. 

I don’t even know if I still want it to end. What am I without this?

It’s becoming familiar.

You can get used to anything.

*

Sisyphus.

*

They cut off three fingers from my left hand. They force them into my mouth and tell me that if I spit them out they’ll burn my eyes with the iron rod in the fireplace. I realize that we all have our own hierarchy for body parts.

I know why they took my fingers. They want to see if they will grow back. They won’t, but I stare at the bloody gauze and I can’t find any feeling of loss inside me. 

I look at the gauze. I look at the little square of sky that was provided to me.

*

I feel them inside me even when they aren’t. I dream of them. I know all their faces now; I can recognize them. Even by their voices.

I know how they like to fuck. I can tell them apart.

I know who likes to see blood and who gets hard from punching. I know who likes it fast and hard and who’d rather take his time with it, nice and slow. I know who likes humiliating more than fucking. I know who is impatient and I know who is okay with waiting to be the last, because he likes it when I’m used up and dirty and full of his friends’ come. He likes to see me squirm in pain, he likes to watch me as I power through the last one of them. He calls me a whore.

Each has a preference. Each has a personality, likes, dislikes.

They’re men.

*

They cut my ear off.

Infection almost takes me. But then, I heal.

*

They cut my testicles off. They burned them months ago, but now they decide that I’m better off without them. They might be right. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to have an erection again. I can barely even pee.

*

I stop screaming. I stop crying.

It surprises them.

*

I open my mouth willingly. I spread my legs before they force them open.

It makes things easier, so I can see how it disappoints them.

*

They don’t get it. This is how I rebel.

*

Sisyphus.

*

He starts to come into my room more often. He sits and watches me. 

He doesn’t talk. He just breathes.

He’s here.

*

_Please tell me nobody kissed me._

It still makes me laugh so much.

*

He’s here.

*

The long nights in the compound, scheming, theorizing, building. I brought him coffee. He always said, _Thanks, Cap,_ but without looking at me.

He smiled at my motivational speeches, as though he found them a little ridiculous but couldn’t bring himself to mock them. They gave him hope.

I know they did. If there’s one thing I know is that I gave him hope, even imperfectly, even if sometimes he didn’t need it or want it, not from me.

I can be at peace with that.

*

He’s here. 

*

I always stared too much, and my eyes always fell to his lips. Sam told me once. Rhodey too. And Bruce. And Nat. And Scott. And Rocket. And Thor.

I couldn’t stop, sometimes. Most of the time.

It was too enthralling. How he talked, fast, the speed of light. His arms stretched up to reach into the machinery he was working on, the dirt on his hands, under his fingernails. His body changed over the years. Maybe he thought I hadn’t noticed.

*

I liked him always. Always.

I never said anything. I never did anything.

*

He’s here.

*

I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that he’s dead. I never would have left if he were still alive. 

*

He’s here.

*

“You’re not like _him_ ,” he says. 

He’s furious. Frustrated. I know because he’s not shouting. He’s almost whispering.

( _No trust. Liar._ )

I’m lying in bed. He woke me up. I feel a tear roll over my temple and into my hair. The painkillers wore off. The painkillers wouldn’t help with the bite of hearing him talk about someone who was and wasn’t me. 

“You’re not him. I know that. But I tried to make you into him. And it’s not working. Why is it not working?”

I don’t want to talk with him. I don’t have the heart for it. Or the stomach.

“I did everything right. You were enslaved for the same amount of time, in the same place, under the same conditions. You fought in the games. I let the Knights use you in the same way he was used. And you’re still—”

I don’t know what he means. I’m still what? Good? Happy? Alive?

He takes off his mask.

Half his face is scar tissue. His right eye is grey.

“How do I break you, Steve?”

It hurts so much to speak, and as soon as I try to open my mouth to let the words out I taste blood on my tongue. 

( _That’s my man._ )

But I gotta say this.

“You don’t.”

*

“He was the most vicious warrior. He was bloodthirsty and fearless.”

He adored him. It’s in his voice. 

“And I lost him. Sixteen years ago. And now I got you, and I was hoping that I could—”

He’s heartbroken. He’s a widower.

Like me.

“What a waste.”

*

“I read kindness in your eyes and it makes me sick. I want a ruthless warrior who knows no mercy. I want someone with whom I can rule this disgusting kingdom. Who knows the power of fear and obedience. And instead I got you.”

He hates me.

He’s so angry that his hands shake. 

“Why won’t you give up the fight? Why?”

*

“I want _my_ Steve back. But he’s gone. And all I’m left with is a pale imitation that doesn’t share even an ounce of his courage. All I’m left with is… _you_.”

He spits on me.

*

Seems like the others were wrong. I’m not his type, after all.

*

He loses his patience. He’s at his last resort. The last attempt, the last test.

He throws the covers away from the bed and pulls me forward, lining me up with the edge. His hands are cold. He enters me dry.

I cough out the pain I’m still able to feel.

He’s not even hard.

He’s despair and fury. He’s trying to chase a feeling I can’t give him.

He’s trying to cheat his own pain.

I look at the window, the blue sky.

He stops after a few thrusts, pulls out, fixes his clothes. He looks at me like I’m the half-eaten carcass of an animal well past the point of putrefaction.

“To hell with this. I’m done with you.”

He leaves, and I suddenly notice that my arms and legs were free the whole time.

*

James makes a fire. It’s winter again. I’ve been here for a year.

He’s grown so much since I’ve met him.

“I’ve heard rumors. That they’re gonna kill you soon.”

I wasn’t expecting any less.

“Yeah. I figured.”

“I’ll try and find out when.”

“Nah. Doesn't matter.”

I know when it’s going to be. As soon as I’m healed enough to walk out of here and to the public square.

“Aren’t you scared?”

“Yes, buddy. Very much.”

He’s silent for a while, busy.

He looks at me, stern. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

He’s fed me for months. He’s washed bodily fluids from my skin and my hair without so much as a flinch. He must have mopped up gallons of blood—my blood—from the floors.

He’s a kid. He should be in school.

*

One day, he’s quieter than usual.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Buck.”

His eyes go wide, but he doesn’t ask. He sits close to me and reads out loud a book he stole from the castle’s library. 

*

I dress. I haven’t done that in a long time. Tights, a short tunic with a belt, soft leather boots.

They will bury me in these clothes.

They handcuff me.

The Knights walk me through the castle’s corridors.

“Such a pity, though” says one of them, the one who likes to do me last. “Wish I could keep you.” He licks my cheek.

*

The outside light blinds me.

The sky is too big.

The crowd is too big.

He’s sitting on his throne, on an elevated platform. At his side, ministers and nobles.

There is no scaffold. I expected one. Because of the history books, I guess. But there’s only the stool where I’ll rest my neck, placed directly on the ground. A man is holding an axe.

A herald starts reading the sentence.

*

How long do I have left? Minutes.

What a privilege, to know even this.

*

Minutes. They stretch and feel like years.

If I could go back… I’d do it all again, but better. I’d love him right. I’d love myself.

If I could go back.

*

“STEVE!” A shout. “Carol! It’s Steve!”

The sun disappears, covered by a spaceship.

There are explosions.

I kneel on the ground. I close my eyes.

*

He’s here.

He’s a different one. He has blue eyes.

He kneels in front of me. His forehead to mine.

“It’s over, Steve. It’s over, baby. I’ve found you. I’ve found you.”

*

He kills them all. The King, the Knights. A beam of light from the Iron Man suit.

I hope James is okay.

*

I look at his body, dead and bloody, still sitting on the throne. The mask has slipped away.

I feel sorry for him. I want to mourn him, because it’s _him_. Despite everything.

*

I see James running. He sees me.

I don’t even have to ask. He comes with us.

*

The spaceship’s engines provide a background noise that I’m no longer familiar with, but I’m grateful for it nevertheless. It drowns out my thoughts.

He’s here.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, and he’s crouched down in front of me, between my open thighs. He has blue eyes. Blue eyes. Younger.

There’s a wedding ring on his finger.

“It’ll be alright, sweetheart. We’re going home. We’re together again, finally. Everything will be alright, I promise.”

He touches my hair as though he’s done it thousands of times.

I look at him.

He’s unsure. He’s happy and relieved, but I see his smile fall, hesitant.

I kiss him.

“Oh, baby.” Tears in his eyes.

He hugs me.

There’s a small window. I can see the sky and the white clouds passing by.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are moderated but still very much appreciated if you liked the story.
> 
> On [Tumblr](https://silkspectred.tumblr.com/post/638224122637385728/the-stranger-38k-explicit-steve-rogerstony)  
> On [Twitter](https://twitter.com/silkspectred/status/1341434703568625678)


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